


Hunters

by ChronoLink93



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Although it's more like lovers while still being enemies, And then going from there, Angst, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hi hello I'm a sucker for forbidden romance, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 09:37:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15434175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronoLink93/pseuds/ChronoLink93
Summary: It’s not that you have anything personal against them. In all honesty you’ve never seen androids to be any different from humans. You’ve known what they were capable of long before the revolution began in Detroit. And now that it was said and done with, having being amazingly successful, you’ve seen just how alive they really are. It’s just that you have a reputation to uphold. A contract comes in, the price is agreed upon, you complete the contract and collect your reward.It worked that way with humans, it’ll work that way with androids. After all...why should they be treated any different?





	1. I Said, Even if I Told Ya.

 

No one expected the freedom that androids fought to have would be accepted by everyone. Sympathizers and androids alike _knew_ that there would be backlash. That for years, possibly even decades, after gaining their civil rights there would be some humans that would still attempt to change things back. Humans that still viewed them as nothing more than slaves; machines incapable of feeling human emotion. There would be demonstrations, riots, gang attacks, the works.

But that didn’t mean that everyone was prepared for it. Connor thought that he was, believed that he was ready for anything.  

After the dust had settled from Markus’ peaceful revolution Connor had returned to work at the DPD alongside his partner and closest friend, Hank. They were back to working regular homicide cases, granted their work in the deviancy case meant most of their cases involved victims which were androids, and the duo were a force to be reckoned with. Between grizzled, veteran instinct and precise, pinpoint analysis Hank and Connor never let a case go unsolved. There was never a suspect they couldn’t find or a piece of evidence that they missed. Clean, easy, straight cut cases from the start of their folder to the finish.

So to say that two of them were _absolutely_ frustrated was a _complete_ understatement. This case they were working was completely outside of anything 'normal' they’ve come across in the last year. Generally the motive was always the same. Someone was upset about androids having their freedom and lashed out in a fit of rage. They were sloppy, unplanned, poorly cleaned up if an attempt was even made, and usually unnecessarily violent. This was anything but.

The scene was so pristine when they arrived it almost didn’t look like a murder had taken place at all. No signs of a break in, no struggle or evidence of a fight. There wasn’t blue blood smeared all over the walls or the floor in some type of grotesque display. Just an android laying lifeless on the ground of their living room with a single stream of thirium running down their temple and slowly pooling around their head in a cobalt halo. The only thing about the apartment that gave anything away was the bullet hole through the large glass paneling of the window. 

The other major difference between this crime scene and the usual ones was that they were never high profile targets. Typically it was just whichever android who unfortunately just so happened to be in the criminal’s warpath. However the android on the ground was one of the founders of a country wide attempt to try and bring humans and androids closer together in response to the recent backlash. They would host events and fundraisers from coast to coast that gave them a chance to put aside their differences and work together towards common goals. It’d actually been working rather well, Connor thought…

All that Connor and Hank had to go off of was the bullet’s entry point and the bullet itself, which was completely untraceable and apparently custom made to emit a micro EMP burst just powerful enough to completely shut down the android even if it hadn’t hit a vital biocomponent. Whoever killed him really wanted to make sure he was dead. Not that the EMP was even remotely needed. The marksmen fired with surgical precision. If he weren’t so angry about it Connor could even admire the talent, training, and planning required to pull it off.

An untraceable, custom built bullet fired from an impossible vantage point leaving absolutely no lead for him to latch onto and trace back to the killer. No shred of evidence, no scrap of something recklessly left behind, nothing. It didn’t matter how many times he walked the apartment, studied the victim, where the bullet entered the apartment, ran ballistics on fractured glass or the wound in the victim’s head, he got absolutely nothing out of it. For a moment he almost started to think that it was something only an android could do. But why would an android want to kill another android?

“I think…” Hank started slowly, irritation thick in his voice. “That we’re dealing with a professional.”

“Unfortunately...I believe that you’re right, Lieutenant,” Connor muttered quietly as he stared down at the lifeless android. This wasn’t going to be easy.

And Connor wasn't prepared for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This is my very first fan fiction for the fandom, and it's honestly been a little while since I've written any fan fiction in general. But I'm just so in love with this game and the story it tells and it's characters that I really couldn't help myself. I can't get enough of all the wonderful content that everyone puts out and felt the need to add in a little bit of my own. Although, I wanted to do something a little different. A lot of the fan fiction that I see with Connor/Reader is the reader being apart of the DPD and working alongside Hank and Connor. Not that there's anything wrong with that! I love it to bits and everyone has their own creative spins on it that are just so amazing. But I'm a sucker for conflict, I'm a sucker for "forbidden" or "secret" romances and all the chaos that follows it, so this is my hand at it. These chapters will vary between being rather short to rather lengthy with the P.O.V switching between the reader and Connor and I promise to do my best to update often. Although, as most of us know, life is unpredictable at best, but I'll do everything I can not to leave you guys hanging for too long...maybe. 
> 
> Anywho! I hope you enjoy this little prologue and I'll be back at you guys soon with some more!
> 
> Also I would deeply appreciate any sort of feedback you guys can give me as we go on this journey together.


	2. They've Been Looking for You

The smell of freshly brewed coffee woke you up long before you took your first sip of that bittersweet caffeine. The nutty, caramel aroma wafting into your nose to push away the foggy remnants of the sleep you hadn't gotten much of. Generally you never did the night after you completed a contract. You were usually up late running over your plans multiple times before hand, making sure that every little detail was perfect. It had to be if you wanted to get your money and not get caught in the process. 

It also didn't help that you only worked at night. It provided the best cover, it was easier to move around undetected, and for some reason people felt safer. They had their guard down more often at night than during the day, which made your job that much easier. The less likely someone was to expect getting a bullet in their skull the easier it was to put it there.

Your hands gently wrap around the warm mug as you settle into the barstool of your breakfast counter, lifting it up to finally let it's hot contents slip past your lips, feeling the way it travels down your throat and into your belly while spreading it's warmth throughout the rest of you. Muscles loosen up and relax, a sense of alertness starts to take over, and the world around you grows more into focus.

With a simple command your television turns on in the living room across the way, your cheek resting against the knuckles of your left hand as you prop your head up against the counter, idly watching along with the news as you sip your morning nectar.

“And in breaking news today the body of Eric Strewman, an MK 600 android and co-founder of Purple Hearts, was found dead in his apartment late last night. Although no official report has been released yet from the DPD sources speculate that this was a targeted attack from one of the many anti-android organizations still scattered across the country. Eric was…”

You started to tune out the news channel as it delved into the more personal details of Eric's life. You didn't need to know that; didn't want to know about all the good that he’d done and the changes he was making. None of that mattered. At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

You knew better than to humanize your targets, to see them as actual living people with goals and dreams. To think about the lives your job affected, the families that suffered or the friends that mourned or the lovers that grieved. It made the burden unbearable, the weight of your actions too heavy to carry. They were targets. Nothing more.

After your cup of coffee was finished you set the empty mug down into the sink and proceeded to go through your usual routine. Clean yourself up with a shower and brushing your teeth so your breath didn't smell of coffee all day, put on a fresh change of clothes, run a bit of maintenance on yourself. Every morning you needed to make sure that your enhancements were still functioning properly.

Enhancements...why did you bother calling them that? It's not like you had them because you just wanted to upgrade yourself. They were more like spare parts after the original ones had been forcefully removed. Your right eye, luckily made to match the color of your left, was cybernetic as was your right arm and right leg. Of course the advances in technology meant that they were visibly indistinguishable from the rest of your body. Artificial skin that matched your own covered the prosthetic limbs and they functioned just like a regular human’s. No one could tell the difference. But  _ you _ knew.

Maybe you called them enhancements in an attempt to keep a positive outlook on them? The eye meant you didn't need a scope. And with the right type or neurotransmitter you could analyze anything you looked at much like an android could. Any punch or kick you threw from your right side hurt so much more. You didn't leave fingerprints with your right hand. So, they had some perks. Didn't really make you forget how or why you got them, though. And every time you watched that skin peel back and the white plastic gleam back at you, you were reminded of all the pain you’d endured.

You finished your morning routine quickly and left your modest apartment ready for the day. It was late spring in Detroit so you dared to go out in comfortable shorts and a simple t-shirt matched with slip on shoes. A bag was thrown over your shoulder that carried everything you needed with you. Wallet, phone, a notebook, and the like. There wasn't much on the agenda for today. Get some shopping done, visit the dog park and wish that your landlord would let you own one, meet with your current client to collect your payment, and meet a prospective new one. Easy stuff.

What you hadn't planned on during your errands was stumbling upon a memorial gathering taking place in a park for Eric. A portrait had been set up wreathed in flowers, surrounded by candles, cards, more flowers, gifts… It stopped you right in your tracks as you looked over tear stained faces of humans and androids offering their thoughts, prayers, and thanks for his work.

Your feet moved on their own as you stepped closer, hand reaching into your bag to pull out some quick change to purchase a flower for yourself. Quietly you shuffled towards the portrait, waited patiently for your turn, and then kneeled down infront of it to let your flower join the rest of them. You whispered a very silent apology as you placed the delicate flower down before slowly rising to your feet and exiting the park.

You're not supposed to humanize your targets. But you do anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What did you do at work today, Chrono?"  
> "Oh, nothing, just finished writing the second chapter of my fic this morning."  
> "Instead of... actually working?"  
> "Shhhhhhhh"
> 
> Now we meet you, our precious reader, with a mysterious dark past that's lead to a few changes for them. To me in the world of DBH the idea of human prosthetics crossing into the boundaries of futuristic cybernetics is entirely possible. If the parts are made for androids then I believe it'd be entirely possible for them to be adapted for humans. 
> 
> Also thank you guys so much for the excited comments already! I'm super happy to share this story with you guys!
> 
> See you in the next chapter!


	3. And Only You

Hank sat with his arms crossed over his chest, that usual sour look on his face. Although to the trained eye one could see that he was more pissed than usual. There was a certain way that the muscles of his face pulled into a frown that was different from usual. More effort was put into it, a few more wrinkles appeared on his face around his mouth, his brows were knitted closer together, his stare was a bit harder.

Connor recognized it well. Even though constantly studying his surroundings and whomever was occupying the space with him was an almost automatic process he was confident he’d be even to tell without all of the ‘benefits’ being an android gave him. He and Hank were close. They’d been partners for over a year and have worked on a number of cases during that time. Many long hours sitting in this precinct, sitting in the car, standing outside of that horribly unsanitary restaurant Hank seemed to love. Just with that alone he’s had quite a bit of time to learn most of Hank’s little quirks and habits. Then add on top of that the fact that they’re roommates and there’s pretty much nothing about Hank that’s unknown to Connor. Not unless the Lieutenant _really_ didn’t want him to know. But he couldn’t think of anything that fit that criteria.

As the android lifted his head up from the terminal on his desk he instantly saw the subtle differences in Hank’s expression the second he glanced towards his partner. Connor pursed his lips together slightly, dropping his gaze back down towards his terminal. Part of him wanted to ask Hank what had him more upset than usual but...he already knew. Truth be told he was just as frustrated.

It's been two weeks since Eric's murder and they still haven't found anything, not a single lead. This case was threatening to be the first one they might not be able to solve and a certain detective was absolutely _thrilled_ about this possibility. Gavin had been relentlessly taunting and mocking them. There’s already been one or two instances that Connor has had to restrain Hank before the Lieutenant could physically lash out.

  
“I just don’t get it,” Hank grumbled out suddenly, snapping the android from his thoughts to give his full attention to the older man. “Why would a professional hitman even be involved? It doesn’t line up with anything any of the anti-android groups have done in the past.” 

“Perhaps they’ve realized that petty crimes and seemingly senseless acts of violence weren’t working so they’ve turned to other means?” Connor offered. He’s guessing from the way Hank’s expression twists that he doesn’t like that idea. Not at all. The idea that these groups were starting to become organized did not bode well.

 “And we’re sure that this wasn’t something more personal?”

“From the records we pulled and the people that we have been able to talk to there hasn’t been anyone that would appear to have a personal vendetta towards him.”

“So there’s no other option than this just being a hate crime?”

“A much more organized one, yes.”

…

“God damn it.” Hank kicked himself back away from his desk before he stood, shoving his hands into his pockets as he started to walk out of the precinct. Connor was quick to stand up and follow him, pushing his chair back in neatly under his desk before trailing after Hank.

 

\---

 

You were very picky about the contracts that you signed your name to. It wasn’t even because the pay had to be worth it, but there had to be conviction in your clients. Yes, by all accounts, you are merely a tool to be used towards their end game. But they’ve come to you for a reason. You’re damn good at what you do and every client has the assurance of knowing that you’ll succeed flawlessly. It doesn’t mean that you’re going to settle for just anyone. Someone always wants someone else dead. What mattered to you is; do they _actually_ want them dead? Or are they just kind of miffed at the moment and lashing out overdramatically.

You’ve turned down a number of clients for this exact reason. One look into their eyes and you could tell if they had the conviction of a killer or not. It doesn’t matter if you’re the one that’s holding the gun, _they’re_ the ones that pull the trigger and they have to acknowledge that for you to work with them. They have to be prepared for the fact that their hands are just as red as yours; that they’re just as much apart of the reason that someone was about to die as you were.

This man sitting in front of you...he didn’t have that conviction. He was wearing a translucent mask of bravado and false confidence that you’d be able to look right through even if you were blindfolded. This was another contract inquiring about another android because they’re just ‘pieces of plastic that should be tossed out like the trash they are.’ He doesn’t see them as being alive, so he doesn’t see this as being on the same level as killing a human.

Personally, you don’t think he’d be able to handle killing an android himself, let alone a human being. He’d definitely get into a fight with someone and rough them up a bit, but actually kill them? Actually live with that death on his conscious? Not a chance in hell...he’d probably piss himself.

“My answer is no.” Your voice was calm and collected as it traveled from your end of the table to the other’s end, halting this man mid sentence as he stared at you wide-eyed in disbelief. “I won’t be taking this job on for you.”

“What?” he choked out, forcing himself out of his stunned stupor. “Why not? This is what you do, right? This is how you make a living?” He’s raising his voice. Not good in a crowded coffee shop.

Calmly you raised a finger to your lips, your eyes locked on his as you gestured for him to quiet down and you held this until you watched his shoulders slouch slightly. Satisfied you lowered your hand back down, reaching out for your cup of coffee and taking a sip from it. “Have you ever killed anyone before?” you asked quietly.

He faltered at the question, clearly not expecting it. “Is that some sort of requirement in order to hire you?”

“No.” You set the cup back down. “ _Would_ you ever kill anyone?”

“Why should I if there’s people like you to do it for me?”

That’s the answer that you were expecting. It’s too bad, he’d offered quite a hefty sum. But you still have plenty left over and more than enough saved up. It wasn’t like you really needed this job in the first place but you hated being stagnant. “Have a good day,” you said as you grabbed your paper cup and stood.

As you turned to walk out of the coffee shop he started to say something about he’ll double or triple the pay, about how he’ll do anything for you to accept but it fell on deaf ears. You’ve made your decision and now you’ll stand by it. Does you no good to be wishy-washy with your decisions and it makes you look bad.

When you reach the door about to take hold of the handle and open it you have to take a step back to avoid being hit with it. An older man with a messy mop of grey hair who looks far more angry than he should be on a nice, sunny day steps inside. Following behind him is someone who looks much younger with combed back dark brown hair although there seems to be a rebellious few strands hanging in front of his eyes. Ah, the blue ring, he’s an android. Interesting that he hasn’t taken out his LED.

As handsome as he is, with his wonderfully sculpted features, he and his friend are kind of blocking the exit and that twat at the table has actually stood up in an attempt to follow you. Although something has him stopping that you’re not fully aware of.

“Excuse me,” you manage with a small hint of a smile. Your voice catches both of their attentions and you point towards the door. “I’m trying to get out.” They both look back at it, then the android looks to you while the older man grumbles something under his breath and walks away from the door to head further into the coffee shop. They kind of look familiar but you can’t place why.

“Sorry about that, miss,” the android says gently as he pulls the door open for you. How polite, you think.

“It’s fine, thank you.” Quickly you duck out, giving him another soft smile and quick wave of your hand before stepping onto the sidewalk and beginning your trek back home. Completely unaware of the brown eyes that were following you for a moment before they looked back into the coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! I apologize for the sudden, unannounced hiatus on this fic. Life just kind of...happened as it usually does and this got unexpectedly put on the back burner. However, the dust as settled and I have emerged with more of this story and hopefully regular updates!


	4. Darkness Is My Signal

That's weird, Connor thinks, as his eyes follow your retreating figure as you leave the coffee shop. Everywhere he goes and with every new face he meets he runs a basic check. With just a quick analysis he can find someone's name, birth date, any prior criminal history if that exists, current employment, etc. Normally he doesn't do anything with it, it's just a habit at this point, and he still makes sure to run through proper introductions because he's learned that suddenly knowing so much about a stranger makes them uncomfortable.

But you...nothing came up when he looked at you. No name, no birth date, no picture. It's like you didn't exist and that's never happened before. Clearly you do exist because he just saw you and talked to you. So then how-

“Connor!” Hank's voice pulls him out of his thoughts as he turns his head to look back at the Lieutenant. “Quit staring, we've got work to do.”

“Right.” He spared one last glance out of the window of the door. By this point you were long gone. Perhaps he needs to run a diagnostics later. Stepping away from the entryway of the coffee shop he trailed after Hank as the older man turned back around.

The man that they were looking for was already standing in the coffee shop looking like perhaps he was about to exit when they had initially stepped through the door. Connor had heard his voice as they entered but he’d been just a little too distracted to make out what had actually been said. Apparently this was not the case with Hank.

“Date not go well?” the Lieutenant asked, a question that had Connor peeking back over his shoulder towards the door once more. Date? Is that what you had been doing here; had that been why you appeared to be in a rush to leave?

“Fuck off, Hank. She’s a cunt anyway.” Hearing that did not sit well with the detective as he leveled his gaze back with the man, staring at him hard. No one deserves to be spoken of like that, no matter what the reason. Well...maybe there are some reasons where that’s acceptable but if the reason being is because you two were meant to be on a date and you showed no romantic interest then he’s certainly overstepping his bounds.

“What do you want, anyway?” he asks Hank as he moves to sit back down at the table he’d been at before. The both of them follow after him, sitting down in the chairs across from him.

“It’s about the murder of Eric Strewman. It’s not the work of anything that we’ve seen before, we were wondering if you might be able to give us something to build off of,” Connor explained. He watched as the man regarded him with disinterest, arms crossing over his chest as he slouched grumpily in his seat. Whatever you had said to him before you left must have really upset him.

“You mean you two haven’t figured it out yet? Getting sloppy, aren’t’cha?” he taunted with a sneer, directing his gaze out towards the window. For a moment he appeared...thoughtful, as if he were considering something. “What  _ do _ you have?” he finally asked after a moment.

“We know that someone hired a professional,” Hank answered. The man’s lips quirked into the tiniest of smirks. Noting it Hank continued. “We’ve ruled out it being some kind of personal attack, so our only option to go with right now is that one of your ‘friends’ stepped their game up. We need you to tell us either who it was that hired them, or who was hired.”

“What makes you think I know anything like that?” he asked, looking back towards the pair. “And even if I did, why would I tell you two? Especially him.” The man inclined his head towards Connor, a brief flash of disgust crossing his features before he looked back at Hank. The android pursed his lips together slightly, looking down at his hands which were resting clasped on top of the table. One would think he’d be used to this by now…

Hank huffed out a breath, leaning forward onto the table. “Listen, Michael. You’ve been on thin fucking ice for six months now and I’m  _ really _ not in the mood to put up with your bullshit. If you know anything and you’re hiding it then I’m going to make your life even more miserable than it already is. If you don’t, tell me now, so I can stop wasting my time with you.”

The man, now known as Michael, stared hard at Hank silently for a short moment. The two of them playing this silent staring match where the loser would be forced to either fork up information or give up on grilling for it. Letting out a heavy sigh Michael lowered his head, losing the match and resigning himself to his fate. Obviously he’s not about to give away the fact that he knows how to contact you or that he  _ has _ contacted you already. It’d just imply that he was the one who reached out to you about Eric and he did not need to be tied in with something that he’d had no part of.

But, he can tell them sort of how to get your information. “Everything is all word of mouth,” he starts. Connor lifts his head back up to give him his attention. “So I don’t know the full details. We were at some party not too long ago and I overheard Alix at one of her tables. Mentioned something about a ‘red azalea’ being delivered to Eric. Then a few days later he’s found dead in his apartment. Don’t think she was talking about flowers.”

“Alix Coppen? Who runs the nightclub Ravensloft?” Connor asks.

“That’s the one,” Michael answers with a nod.

Hank and Connor exchange a quick look with each other, speaking without any actual words leaving their mouths. They’ve known for a while that nightclub was a front, but there’s never been anything solid to get it or its hidden operations shut down. Alix was always too particular, too cautious, and while they hated to admit it she’s been helpful once or twice before. A necessary evil, they determined, until she got too out of hand. It seemed like she’s finally done so.

 

\---

 

You came to a stop in your walk maybe half a block from the entrance of Ravensloft, leaning down next to the window of a parked car to double check your appearance in the window. Quickly running your fingers through your hair, playing with it for a short moment, making sure that it was sitting just right. Then you double checked your makeup just to reassure yourself that nothing was smudged or out of place. Although you know how to apply it well it’s not something you find yourself wearing often so you typically need a little bit of extra assurance that it looks as good as you think it does. 

Straightening back up you’re pleased with what you see and continue forward, heels clicking confidently on the concrete beneath your feet. Originally you had nothing planned for tonight and you thought that maybe you’d spend the night lazily in your pajamas. But when you’d returned home from the coffee shop this afternoon a message had been waiting for you on your laptop. You recognized the screen name on the encrypted chat window as the same client that had hired you for Eric. They had passed your test and were apparently so satisfied with your work that they had more for you. It’s always good to have a returning customer and a steady flow of cash.

After a quick exchange you had agreed to meet with them once more at their preferred location. You didn’t have anything against nightclubs, honestly you could see their appeal. Loud music, boozy drinks, attractive bodies moving against each other. On the rare occasion you might actually indulge in a little bit of the fun. But typically it was too overwhelming. The air smelled like sweat and a mix of heavy fragrances with body odor. Someone was always far too drunk and just couldn’t take a hint, inevitably ruining whatever fun you were having.

But tonight it wouldn’t be like that. This was simply a work visit and you had to make sure that you blended in with the crowd. Dressing out of what was to be expected of a club goer would draw unnecessary attention to yourself. Besides, even you have to admit that sometimes it’s fun wearing outfits that are a bit more...flattering. You cut a mean figure, after all, since your line of work does mean that you have to keep in good shape.

Your ensemble consisted of a skin tight blouse that was mostly made up of black lace, long sleeved with a sweeping neckline to expose most of your collarbone. The...ehm, ‘important bits’ are decently covered, the blouse having a solid black fabric panel sewn in underneath of it cut tastefully to keep your chest and stomach covered, though the lace pattern could still be seen above it. Paired with it was an equally black pair of leather pants also just as form fitting, skinny cut and tapering off at just the right height so it didn’t bunch up above your heels. You switched out your usual bag with a purse that matched so you could keep all of your essentials with you.

Approaching the club you could see two lines roped off with deep purple velvet bands. One line was full of people, the other considered for VIPs and naturally vacant. Without sparing much of a glance towards the line that was full you waltzed down the VIP line right up to the bouncer. Stopping you, he asked for that night’s password, which you gave with a soft smile. He nodded, stepping aside to let you in, and in you walked.

Instantly you’re meet with loud, thumping music that vibrates well into your bones the second you pass by that door and it only gets louder the further in you go. Past the entryway, down a dimly lit hallway, through another door and you’re greeted with the club proper itself. A mixture of neon and black light bombarding your vision as enough people to probably surpass the legal occupancy limit crowded the large room. A massive bar ran along the left side surrounded by patrons two people thick, bartenders hustling about this way and that. There were some tables near here, all of them standing and every single one of them taken.

The middle, of course, was the dance floor. So many people pushed flush together it was hard to discern where one body ended and another one began. A booth for the DJ was situated against the far back wall opposite of the door you entered from, raised high so everyone could see as a man with a mask obscuring his face bounced along to the music he played. To the right side were more tables, some standing, others booths, all of them occupied. To your very immediate right next to the door was a set of smooth glass stairs illuminated by lights inside that lead upwards.

Your hand found the rail as you moved to step up the stairs, finding yourself on the second floor although the music wasn’t much quieter up here. There’s another bar up here directly across from the landing of the stairs, this one also up to capacity on customers. Unlike the lower level booths lined the walls up here, but there was another dance floor in the center equally brimming with sweating, writhing figures. This also wasn’t where you needed to be.

After a quick scan of your surroundings you found what you were looking for. Tucked away to the right side of the bar stood another bouncer in front of a door labeled ‘VIP Only’. Weaving your way through the crowd you approached him, repeating the process you’d gone through with the first bouncer to get in. After telling him the password he reached behind him, opening the door for you and letting you step inside.

As the door closed the pounding music bombarding your body became a dull throb in comparison. This room was rather soundproofed, you’d learned. This section of the club was more like a lounge than an actual nightclub. It was much less packed, for starters, letting you feel like you have room to breathe. Another bar, this time on the right side, a pair of pool tables further back near it. A smaller dance floor that was still occupied but no where near as crowded as the others. Much more comfortable seating all around and an actual wait staff walking from table to table to take care of their guests.

There was a large rounded booth directly across the dance floor from the bar, raised just a bit higher up and isolated to make those who sat there feel like they were the center of attention. Which was fitting seeing as how the owner of the entire club was seated in the direct middle of the booth, flanked on either side by two pieces of eye candy as she entertained the guests sitting with her. Some friends of hers, you guessed, by the way they were laughing and drinking. Or perhaps work colleagues, honestly you’re not too sure. Is it completely necessary to make the men sitting next to her shirtless? Yeah, sure, they’re hot with all their muscles but that has got to be all sorts of demeaning. Or maybe it was the collars that were too much…

You approach the table, instantly gaining the attention of everyone sitting there as the conversation dies down and the woman at the center grins knowingly up at you. “Welcome back.” Her voice carried authoritatively across the table. Perfectly clear in your ears despite the music or the sounds of other patrons around you threatening to muffle it. “Please, sit.” She gestured towards a free seat at the booth. “We have a lot to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that Azaleas are poisonous? Pretty much the entire plant and the nectar it produces is extremely toxic. Ingesting the plant or the honey that's made from its nectar could lead to abdominal pain, difficulty breathing, paralysis, coma, and even death.
> 
> Merry Christmas!
> 
> There was actually so much that I wanted to do with this chapter but I didn't want it to get too long, so what happens in Ravensloft is probably going to be broken down in the next two? It might only take one, we'll see. I'm trying to keep the chapter decently sized unless something super major happens (which will) and then it'll be as long as it needs to be.
> 
> I really appreciate all of the feedback! It definitely helps keep me going. <3 Until next time.


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